


Costume

by wyluliwerewolf



Category: Trigun
Genre: Anime/Manga Fusion, Backstory, Canon - Anime, Chapel as demented Batman, Character Interpretation, Character Study, Child Abuse, Coming of Age, Costumes, Cults, Eye of Michael, Gen, Halloween, Headcanons Everywhere, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Interpretation of Canon, Mentors, Religion, Smoking, Suits, Underage Smoking, Wolfwood as the second Robin, Wolfwood is a character in his own right for a change, Wolfwood is an actual priest, Wolfwood is not the favorite protege, Wolfwood's backstory, Worldbuilding, fill in the blank, manga references, religion on Gunsmoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyluliwerewolf/pseuds/wyluliwerewolf
Summary: A Halloween fic based on the prompt "costume."What if the Eye of Michael fit into the animeverse?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	Costume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marley_Millions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marley_Millions/gifts), [Neon_Lights_Vash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neon_Lights_Vash/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tolerating Vermin Holidays](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792212) by [Marley_Millions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marley_Millions/pseuds/Marley_Millions). 
  * Inspired by [In Waking Hours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299239) by [laughingtoucan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingtoucan/pseuds/laughingtoucan). 



Nicholas D. Wolfwood’s suit, with crosses for cufflinks, was a costume he wore every day. It was a cover story for approaching unsuspecting targets, and a source of money for food and ammo. The outfit came with a name: Chapel, He who Tolls the Black Funeral Bell.

Like almost every possession Wolfwood had ever had, the costume was a hand-me-down. That is, the design was passed on, not the literal materials. Wolfwood’s master, Chapel Evergreen, and his first initiate (long dead) had fine tuned the outfit over the years, making the black suit more bearable in the desert suns. Wolfwood himself added the shades and cigarette. He was also the first to wear his shirt almost entirely unbuttoned.

Chapel Evergreen had Wolfwood’s first suit made to fit him and presented it just before his first mission, with great pomp and ceremony. Evergreen looked sterner than usual, hiding the trembling at the corners of his mouth. He was probably recalling his previous initiate’s first mission, and mulling over the usual comparisons. “Chapel the Younger never talked back. Chapel the Younger had already grabbed the apple by your age.” (Wolfwood wondered whether his predecessor had also been dragged out of bed for 3 am training, or beaten for making a sound).

“You are now Chapel. Go forth and strike down this enemy of God. And for Heaven’s sake, don’t get cigarette ash on that suit!”

Wolfwood darted forth, driven not to honor his Master or Lord Knives, but to come back alive with a little more money for opening an orphanage some day.

The suit was only one part of Wolfwood’s costume, though. He also had to act like a priest. During his seven years following Chapel Evergreen, Wolfwood learned to speak with elevated language and a friendly tone, and--hardest of all--without swearing. He learned to perform the rites for births, weddings, and funerals, in case he were ever forced to actually enact his role. He began carrying a black book that was meant to look like a Bible, but really included an outline of the service and the text of the most common prayers, in case he forgot.

But Wolfwood wanted the suit to be more than just a costume. Perhaps he sought a break from the mind-numbing routine of physical exercises, marksmanship training, and combat practice. He certainly knew it would be easier to open an orphanage as a priest. And, although it was too late to save his own soul, and he didn’t dare dream of saving anyone else’s, part of him yearned for something higher.

Chapel and the mysterious men who’d witnessed Wolfwood’s adoption were part of a militant plant cult, the Eye of Michael. They’d infiltrated several churches and used them to train their own priests and nuns. Chapel permitted Wolfwood limited movement or contact with others, even other trainees. Still, he found moments to slip away. He discovered where the Eye’s priests took classes, and would slip into the back row. Wolfwood memorized the scriptures with them, a mix of the remains of the Bible and the apocrypha developed by plant cults since the Fall. There were few books, so the students listened and droned back the texts. No one asked questions, nor were they invited to do so.

One day, when he was about ten, Wolfwood raised his hand and asked a question. For a moment, there was utter silence. Then, the black robed priest lecturing at the front of the room strode toward Wolfwood. Before the child could react, the priest yanked him up by the collar and dragged him to the front of the room. Wolfwood struggled and kicked, but the man was built like a brick house and easily kept hold of him with one hand, while grabbing a birch rod off the wall with the other. Wolfwood flailed hopelessly, hearing the thwack and feeling the sting of blow after blow, until his entire back was lacerated and bleeding. True to his training, he bit his lip and made not a sound.

Being beaten was nothing new, but in front of the class, it was humiliating. And worst of all, as the priest dumped him on the ground, he pronounced, “See what happens when you challenge the word of God.” The last thing Wolfwood wanted was to be the reason someone gave up their voice or their will.

Wolfwood hadn’t even challenged anything, yet; he’d simply wanted an answer. He stopped asking questions out loud after that, but his mind swarmed with them. He learned to hide his increasingly independent thoughts beneath an obedient guise.

When Wolfwood escaped the Eye of Michael, he enrolled in the most distant seminary he could find. He soon had, not merely the appearance, but also the credentials of a priest. He no longer felt he was going through the motions. Yet, at times, he feared he was a wolf in priest’s clothing. In this world it was kill or be killed, and he’d chosen to take on the burden of killing so more children could grow up innocent. He was surely going to Hell anyway, and better him than them.

Wolfwood listened for the voice of God, but never heard it. Instead, he heard the doubts and fears, the joys and griefs of everyone from small children to grizzled gunslingers to wizened elders. Story after story etched itself in him.

When he comforted mourners, congratulated newlyweds, and blessed babies, Wolfwood’s hatred of humanity melted away. Each encounter was a moment of connection, a tiny star in the dark sky of his life.

Wolfwood’s priestly garb was more than just a costume. It was a ticket to love and peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers Neon_D_lite and Dagdaddy, who asked thought-provoking questions about the lore, read multiple drafts, and helped smooth out the seams. <3


End file.
